This was an answer to the very question Ralph was about to ask.
“Heaven help him, then!” said Ralph, with one brief glance skywards. Perhaps, reader, Heaven even then helped the utterer of that little prayer himself, and granted him presence of mind.
Anyhow, he at once began to give orders. Ralph had what might be called a larger and more grasping mind than Rory; the latter was as brave as brave could be, but Ralph was ever the better man in an emergency.
“Mitchell,” said our English hero, “there is no time to be lost. Take a few men with you, and go on board at once, and report this sad business to Captain McBain. He will know what to do as soon as it is daylight.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Mitchell, and choosing three men he ran quickly down the side of the hill, and the spruce forest swallowed them up.
“Now, lads,” continued Ralph, “go to work and collect wood, there is plenty about; we’ll build a fire on the hill here, and trust the rest to Providence.”
The men were glad to set to work, it revived hope in their hearts.
From the deck of the Snowbird, the eminence which Ralph and Rory occupied could be seen by daylight, so the fire could be seen burning steadily all the livelong night. Just after midnight McBain threw himself wearily on his cot to snatch a few hours’ rest. He was up again before daybreak, the fire was burning brightly then.
Trapper Seth was on deck even before McBain. He was quite ready to go over the side as soon as the order was given, so were the dogs. The mastiff would go with his master as a matter of course, who on this particular occasion had resumed his former useful, if not picturesque, costume of skins.
Had one of even those few individuals in this world who neither care for nor admire man’s true friend, the dog, been on the Snowbird’s deck and witnessed the quiet, eager anxious looks of great Oscar, as he took his seat in the boat along with McBain, he could not have begrudged a word of pity for the poor fellow.